Rosemary
by Druantis
Summary: Apathetic Buffy, overthinking Spike, A fledgling, and Rosemary.


Meet me in the graveyard  
We'll walk among the dead  
On a midnight odyssey  
Riding in my head

I'm not your enemy  
Girl, I am your friend  
Come with me on a journey  
On a journey to the end

-Ramones, garden of serenity.

At night time a whole bunch of uglies lurk in the shadows. Some nights I miss being one of them. Some nights I just kill them. Night time isn't my favourite time of day, which is funny, because it's the only time I'm supposed to be awake. But daytime has better TV, less impromptu assaults on my life, and occasionally more Buffy. Well I prefer seeing her during the daytime anyway. Part of the whole 'assaults on my life' thing.

Its early evening now. Come nightfall I have to descend upon the creatures of the night, avenging lives lost and blah blah blah, getting my kill on. Right now I'd much rather stay inside with a bottle of good scotch, a good movie, and a good girl in my arms.

The suns set low enough now that I can go outside.

As if on cue, she walks in, axe slung casually over her shoulder. She beckons and I stand up and follow her. Another night on the job. The really weird job.

Conversation is, as usual, not really on the cards. She's not talkative lately. I talked way more after I came back from the dead. Not really the same though.

She points, and I follow her finger. Fledgling. Moment its risen its dust. We used to enjoy the fight. It would be a game, or a dance, or something.

I feel sorry for the vampires sometimes. Well often. Those first few days were amazing, discovering my abilities, my strength.

With the slayer around and depressingly efficiently kicking arse, they don't get that chance. They don't get that feeling, that first kill. I guess that's where the morals are supposed to kick in. Of course they don't.

She stops and sits on a gravestone. And for once I find myself over-thinking.

How would 'Ms Rosemary Peterson, born 1973, died 1992' feel about her gravestone being used as a resting place? (Come to think of it, how would the police feel?)

I sit next to her. She stares straight ahead, as usual.

"Say something Spike." She suddenly commands. I glance at her, and she makes eye contact for one short second. "What are you thinking?" She elaborates.

I chuckle. "Didn't know you cared…" I say, inspecting my fingernails. "I'm thinking about Rosemary actually. Rosemary Peterson."

In return for this strange subject, I get a blank stare. I point at the gravestone. She spreads her legs and looks down at the name. She smiles just a little. I continue.

"Who was she? She was… what? 19 years old? Was she in love? Was she lonely? Did she want to die? Where is she now? Who loved her? Who misses her still?"

"You really want to know?" She asks blankly, staring at the gravestone again.

"Yes." I nod. I do, I want to know everything about Rosemary. Just to… know.

"She was in love with Bobby Watts. They were engaged. 3 weeks before their wedding She was mugged. Shot. She died quickly. She's in heaven. Bobby mourned for a long time, but he's better now. He's in another relationship, but he still visits her grave."

I stare at her for a good ten seconds.

"Your making this up." I state. She chuckles dryly.

"Well, duh."

"It's good though. I think that's what happened to her. It might as well be."

She nods. "Or she's still out there, roaming the earth as a vampire."

I scratch my chin. "Quite likely actually. Think I used to have a minion called Rosemary…"

"She wasn't one of your minions…" Buffy sighs, as if it were obvious.

"Its pointless to wonder. For all we know you slayed her, or I ate her. 's the way of life, well, our way of life 'nyway." I reply, jumping off the tombstone, and grabbing her hand, yanking her off with me.

She stumbles slightly, but regains her balance, what with being preternaturally reflex'ed.

"Its not worth it, is it?" She muses to me. I stop and turn around, putting my hand on her cheek, ready to reassure her that it is worth it, life is for living, if she died, the sun would never rise again; and not in a good way. She sees the worry in my eyes and laughs. "Wondering!" She says, punching me lightly on the arm, "About the way things could've been. It only matters what they are."

"Bloody epiphany love." I drawl, smiling. She casually links her arm through mine, as we walk.

"I'm alive. It's not brilliant. But, It's endurable…" She pauses, and stands still, raising her hand to her chin, as if pondering, a mischievous smile on her face. "Kinda like you I guess…"

"Buffy Summers, I am your life." I say in my best American game show voice. She laughs. One of her little half hearted giggles, or a dry chuckle.

"Really!" She suddenly blurts. "How could they think _I _went to hell?!" Then she giggles again, and turns to me. "Thanks for not bringing me back from the dead, Spike." With this she turns around to walk home.

I think she's getting better. Slowly, and in a really depressed way. But better. Maybe thanks to her friends. Maybe thanks to time. Maybe thanks to me. Maybe a little thanks to Rosemary.

"Thanks Rosemary." I say, as I walk back past the grave.


End file.
